


this love, it is a burning sun

by kat777



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Infidelity, Kissing Lessons, Light Angst, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, because Soo-Won and Yona aren't really in a relationship, but they've agreed they want to be in one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9765155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat777/pseuds/kat777
Summary: "I don't understand," says Hak, exasperated. "All your life you’ve had people cooking and sewing for you, so why does it suddenly matter now? And what makes you think I’d be able to help you learn those things?”It takes every ounce of Yona's self-control to refrain from stomping her foot. "I'm not talking about learning to cook or sew, I'm talking about learning to kiss!" she says, and then claps her hands over her mouth. Too loud."Learning...to...kiss?" he echoes. Then the furrow in his brow smooths over. "Sorry, Princess, but I don't have books on kissing. Try the library.""Books!" She scoffs at him. "Books aren't going to teach me how to kiss."At last, understanding dawns on Hak’s face, and his eyes widen in shock. "And...I am?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I realized that rapidly refreshing the Yona/Hak tag over and over would not make ten thousand more fics magically appear, so I gave up and wrote one of my own. You’d think that a fic involving kissing lessons would feature detailed kissing scenes, but, uh... That is not my forte, so I kept those scenes pretty vague. (When I tagged ‘mild sexual content’ for this fic I really did mean mild. This is only rated M because I’m super cautious.)
> 
> Also, some context: Soo-Won intends to become king by marrying Yona instead of by murdering Il, because things aren’t yet so dire that he needs to ascend the throne ASAP (because _Reasons_ ). However, Il is still not on board with them marrying...for now.
> 
> Title of the fic is from the song Into the Open Air by Julie Fowlis, because I think that song is weirdly fitting for Yona and Hak's relationship.

She doesn’t mean to overhear them. She doesn’t mean to set foot on a path that will twist and turn and lead her away from everything she ever wanted. She doesn’t mean to dive in headfirst without checking the temperature, without checking for rapids and waterfalls, without checking for everything that could make her life spiral out of control.

She doesn’t mean to. It just happens.

She just happens to be walking by as the maids are taking a brief respite from their work to gossip. She just happens to hear her cousin’s name. She just happens to slow her pace.

“—don’t see why Lord Soo-Won would settle for anything less than a woman who can do it all,” a maid says. “Cooking, cleaning, sewing...”

“Don’t forget song and dance,” a second chimes in, and the third says, “Yes, we can’t forget those.”

“But we’re forgetting the most important part,” the first protests, and Yona strains her ears, not wanting to miss it. “ _Kissing_.”

“Ohhh _,”_ the other two chorus, and then they all burst into giggles.

“Yes, every man wants a wife who knows how to _kiss_ ,” the second maid says, and that’s the beginning of the end.

Having lived a scant sixteen and a half years—sixteen and a half incredibly _sheltered_ years, at that—the true meaning of their words flies right over poor Princess Yona’s head. Bless her naive little heart, she truly believes _kissing_ means kissing, and no more or less.

Later, Hak finds her out on her balcony, thinking over the words that are still ringing in her head. He perches himself on the wooden railing beside her and dares to ask what’s wrong, with no idea what he’s getting himself into. He probably expects some complaint about the state of her hair, but that’s not what he gets. Not at all.

Instead Yona asks, “Hak, would you marry someone who couldn’t do typical feminine things?”

“ _What_?” He frowns at her, leans his weapon carefully against the wall with one hand, grips the railing beside him with the other. “What kind of question is that?”

For a long moment she hesitates, but in the end she decides that getting this off her chest will be worth him inevitably making fun of her. “I overheard some maids talking about what kind of woman Soo-Won—”

“Ahh,” Hak says, before she’s even gotten the last syllable of her cousin’s name out, as if that explains everything. “I’m sorry I asked.”

Yona crosses her arms and glares at him. “Well, you _did_ ask, and I’m not done answering.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

She ignores the resignation in his tone. “They were talking about what kind of wife he would want, and they said they didn’t think he’d settle for someone who couldn’t cook and sew and kiss—” She can feel heat rushing to her cheeks as she says that last word and hastens to add, “—or dance and sing and play an instrument.”

Out of both nerve and breath, she falls quiet and waits for Hak to burst into laughter.

He blinks at her.

“You can dance and play the koto a little,” he says, and it’s her turn to blink at him.

“You always said my playing was terrible and you’d sooner attend council meetings for six days straight!”

“I said a _little_ , didn’t I?” He looks away, squints up at the sun for a brief moment before returning his gaze to her. “Anyways, who cares what other people think Soo-Won wants? We know him best.”

“They said _every_ man wants those things,” she says, though that isn’t _precisely_ true. They only said that about the kissing, but she’s not about to tell Hak that. “Don’t you? I mean, would you ever even _think_ about marrying me?”

He chokes on air, and while it’s nice to be proven right, there’s an odd pang in her chest that ruins her satisfaction.

She ignores it. It’s nothing. “See? You can’t stand the thought.”

“Of marrying you?” He laughs. “No, I can’t, but it’s not because you can’t cook.”

“Someone _like_ me, then,” she says.

“You mean someone spoiled and stubborn and—”

“If you say _ugly_ , I’m going to—”

“—stuck-up,” he finishes, and if she’s honest, she’s not that surprised. Lately he seems to have fallen out of the habit of taunting her about her looks.

“Fine, fine, I get it. I’m everything you _don’t_ want in a woman.” _He probably doesn’t_ _even_ _think of me_ _as one_ _in the first place,_ she thinks, and unlike Soo-Won, he never will.

“ _I’m suddenly seeing you as a woman,”_ Soo-Won confessed the night of her sixteenth birthday, just when she’d resolved to give up on him for his own safety, but those are words that she will never hear from Hak.

Words that she would never _want_ to hear from Hak, of course, so it’s not like it matters.

As if he reading her thoughts, he says, “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

But that’s where he’s wrong.

“It does, actually,” she says, because she’s thought it over long and hard, and this is the only solution she could find. “Because I want you to teach me.”

"I don't understand," he says, clearly reaching the limits of his patience. "It’s not like he cares if you can do those things. You guys have an understanding, don’t you? Ever since your birthday... If he didn’t care then—”

“ _I_ care!”

For a second Hak seems too startled by her outburst to answer, but he quickly recovers and says, “Oh, _really_? All your life you’ve had people cooking and sewing for you, so why does it suddenly matter now? And what makes you think I’d be able to help you learn those things?”

It takes every ounce of Yona's self-control to refrain from stomping her foot. "I'm not talking about learning to cook or sew, I'm talking about learning to _kiss_!" she says, and then claps her hands over her mouth. Too loud.

 _Stupid Hak._ _Why does_ _he_ _have to be so_ _dense?_

"Learning...to...kiss?" he echoes, as if having trouble processing the words. Then the furrow in his brow smooths over. "Sorry, Princess, but I don't have books on kissing. Try the library."

"Books!" She scoffs at him, at the mockery in his tone. _Dense,_ and _infuriating_ _._ "Books aren't going to _teach me_ how to kiss."

At last, understanding dawns on Hak’s face, and his eyes widen in shock. "And...I _am_?"

“Not if you don’t want to,” she says, because she remembers the pressure of Tae-Jun’s hand around her wrist and she remembers Hak on one knee before her father, vowing to protect her. She knows the weight of her title and of her words. “I’m not ordering you as the princess, I’m asking you as Yona, your childhood friend. Show me how to kiss.”

He scrapes a hand over his face. “Ask someone else.” _Anyone_ else _,_ his tone implies.

“Like who? I’ve gone through everyone I can think of, there’s no one else suitable.”

His hand moves from his face into his hair, tugging his bangs back. “Oh, so now I’m your last resort?” he asks, tone too snide for her to mistake him as genuinely hurt.

Still, it wouldn’t kill her to be generous. “Well, I thought of you before Tae-Jun,” she says.

(Truthfully, Hak was the very first person that came to mind—he always is—but she’d sooner give up every piece of finery she owns than admit this to him.)

“Stop it, Princess, you’re making me blush,” he says, voice thick with sarcasm, dropping his hand back to his side. “ _Surely_ you don’t need kissing lessons when you’re this good at charming men.”

He wants her to charm him, does he? She reaches out, grazes her fingertips along the hand that’s gripping the balcony railing so tightly his knuckles blanch, trying to ease some of the tension. He flinches ever so slightly beneath her touch, and she draws back.

“Charming men is another skill I don’t have,” she says, lifting her chin haughtily. “As you’re always quick to point out. I’d never ask you to teach me that one, though. I can’t imagine you’re any better at it.”

A shadow passes over his face as she speaks, sparking her curiosity, but before she can study it further a rakish grin drives it off.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he says. “I have so many princes and noblemen vying for my hand, Mundok had to recruit half of Fuuga to beat them off with a stick. I didn’t want to tell you—I know how jealous you can get.”

Yona dismisses this with an impatient toss of her head, whipping her unruly red locks over her shoulder. “Why would I be jealous? I’m not stupid enough to believe you like any man you’ve ever met half so much as you like me—besides Soo-Won, but I don’t mind sharing you with him.”

His grin vanishes instantly, quicker than the smallest flame doused by a bucket of water.

“That’s not—” He gasps out the words on a startled burst of air, has to stop and draw in another breath, deeper. He scrubs a hand over his face again, like he needs a moment to collect himself before he attempts to answer her a second time. “That’s not what I _meant_.”

She watches him closely. _One would think he’d been punched in the gut—by someone_ _worlds_ _stronger than_ _I_ _, no less._ Far from dousing her mere flicker of curiosity, his reaction is a sizable piece of kindling that she latches onto with little hesitation or remorse. Hak is forever teasing her, and while she always tries to give as good as she gets, it’s rare that she’s able to truly fluster him.

Yet this mystery will have to wait; she hasn’t forgotten her request, and nor has his refusal to answer gone unnoticed.

“I know what you meant,” she says. “And now that you know what _I_ mean, I want an answer. Will you teach me how to kiss?”

He doesn’t say anything. He stares at her for a second, eyes intent on hers before he drags them down to her lips, almost as if against his will. She would never want him to agree to this against his will, wouldn’t charm him even if she knew how. This is a request, not an order, and she needs to make that clear.

So she leans in and whispers, “Please, Hak?”

This time, he doesn’t gasp or grin or run a hand over his face. He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even seem to breathe—a rather alarming development, in Yona’s opinion.

“Hak...?”

“Well,” he says at last, all the tension in him draining away before her confused eyes. “Guess I might as well do Soo-Won a favor.” He shrugs his shoulders with an ease she suddenly no longer feels, as if they’ve exchanged places. “Wouldn’t want him to end up married to someone who kisses like a fish.”

 _I_ _really should be annoyed at that,_ she thinks to herself. _I_ really _should be._

“Great,” she says, but it comes out too high-pitched, like a mouse squeaking, and she clears her throat loudly when he smirks at her.

“I’ll let you know when and where we’ll be meeting by the end of the day,” she says, and then sweeps through the balcony doors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hak. You came.” Her eyes are oddly relaxed as she looks up at him, but her cheeks are dusted pink, and not through artificial means. 
> 
> _I can still tell her no. I can still walk away. It’s not too late._
> 
> She reaches out and slips a hand though his, pulls him along behind her and he goes, like a puppet on a string. Of course he goes.

This is, without a doubt, the worst thing Princess Yona has ever asked of him in her entire life.

Hak reminds himself of that over and over and over. As he chews his dinner and tastes nothing; as he lies awake in bed tossing and turning; as he counts down the hours, minutes, _seconds_ ticking by. It’s a terrible idea and he won’t do it, he can’t go.

Who does she think she is, unknowingly taking advantage of his feelings to get one step closer to her happy ending with Soo-Won?

What does she think she's doing, unknowingly letting him take advantage of her trust in him to get the smallest taste of everything he's tried to pretend he doesn't want?

What does _he_ think he’s doing, allowing his feet to carry him towards the place she decided on, at the exact time she mentioned?

Where is her bodyguard, her sworn protector, when she needs him most? Throwing all of his principles out the window and becoming the very thing she needs protection from.

_No, it’s not too late. I can still walk away, I can still be the man King Il entrusted the most precious person in the world to—_

“Hak. You came.” Her eyes are oddly relaxed as she looks up at him, but her cheeks are dusted pink, and not through artificial means.

_I can still tell her no. I can still walk away. It’s not too late._

She reaches out and slips a hand though his, pulls him along behind her and he goes, like a puppet on a string. Of course he goes.

“Where are we going?” he asks, and the words are nothing more than the barest whisper. If he speaks any louder she’ll hear the catch in his voice.

“You know that corner by the gardens, the one the guards never pass by on their rounds?” She smiles—a little smug, a lot sweet, because that’s just who she is. “Where we used to hide from my tutor, remember?”

The memory of her small hand pulling him along with far more urgency than it is now should jolt him out of his haze, should cast his acceptance of her request in a light so glaringly damning that he has no choice but to take it back.

Instead it sends a wicked thrill through him, the reminder that she’s asking this of _him_ , of all people: the boy she used to tug along everywhere she went, the boy who always followed after her in reluctant awe, the man who has an easier time looking directly at the sun than at her these days.

Before he can stop himself, he says, “All that time you spent in your little secret spot avoiding your lessons, Princess, and now you’re going there to _learn_ something? Bet your tutor would give anything to witness this.”

Her cheeks go from a soft pink to a blazing red that almost matches her hair. “ _Ugh_ ,” she says, scrunching up her nose. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t you remember what that oaf was like?”

He does. He remembers it all. And as he looks at her mortified face and her scrunched-up nose, he realizes that he’s accidentally stumbled upon the only way he could possibly get through this experience with his sanity intact.

Allowing this swooping sensation in his stomach and slowly-creeping heat in his veins, letting his heart speed up into a frenzied rhythm, living every moment as if he’s a split-second from plunging off a cliff—it all guarantees disaster. He’s in the wrong headspace, acting as if this as a pivotal event in their lives, in their relationship. The moment that changes everything.

In reality, this is an ordinary day and an ordinary occurrence, Princess Yona getting him neck-deep into trouble that he wanted no part in, and he needs to treat it as such.

He needs to treat it like a game.

A game he needs to win.

“I remember,” he says, “but _I’m_ your tutor now, and not to brag or anything, but I’m far too handsome to warrant that disgusted look on your face.”

She goes cross-eyed when he taps the tip of her nose with his finger, blinks and jerks her head away.

“ _Haaaaaak_ ,” she whines, scrunching up her nose even harder.

 _Adorable._ But he loses if he admits that, even just to himself, doesn’t he? That’s how it’s always been.

“Princess, if you can’t even stand a little poke, how do you expect me to show you how to kiss?” he asks. “Or would you rather I grabbed a frog from the garden pond for you to practice on?”

“Hak!”

“So, you _would_ prefer me over a frog. I’m flattered.”

“Keep talking and I might take the frog, after all,” she says darkly.

In other words, if he _doesn’t_ keep talking, she’ll take _him_. Heaven help him, she’s not making this easy. She never makes anything easy.

_Except loving her._

He squashes the thought the instant it forms, ruthlessly shoves it back into whatever miserable hellhole it came from. ( _Your heart,_ his brain supplies in a woefully misguided attempt to be helpful.)

“Well, then, let’s get started,” he says, waving a hand at a boulder lying in the castle’s shadow. The one they used to sit on together as children for years and years, all the way back to when Yona was so tiny her feet couldn’t reach the grass. She’d swing her legs back and forth, and sometimes she’d grab his hand and swing their arms, too.

 _Forget the miserable hellhole that’s supposedly my heart, I’ll be seeing what_ real _hell looks like someday, just for this._

“Started,” she repeats, as if she’s forgotten why she brought him here.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s better if we sit down for this. Wouldn’t want you swooning.”

 _Wouldn’t want_ you _swooning, more like,_ his brain corrects him, and really, why does he even allow thoughts to enter his head without going through a rigorous approval process first? Why isn’t he an impenetrable, unfeeling pillar of restraint and fortitude?

Yona sits down on the boulder, tugging him down with her because oh, right, she’s _still holding his hand_. She lets go when he shifts uncomfortably beside her, and finally he settles on sitting as far from her as possible and angling himself towards her.

“Alright, now what?” she asks, bold as can be, as if her hands aren’t shaking in her lap.

When was the last time she held her hands in her lap like that while talking with him? The way she does when she’s expected to be polite, when she’s expected to be a prim and proper doll hitting all the right notes? He hates it.

He hates it so much, in fact, that he tells her, “Put your hands on my shoulders.” _In my hair,_ he wants to say, but he knows he has to take this slow.

She looks doubtful. “I’ve never seen a lady—”

“Seen many ladies kissing their husbands or lovers, have you?” he asks, and he doesn’t need to see the flicker of annoyance that passes over her face to know she hasn’t.

Still, annoyed is better than polite, or worse, uncomfortable. (He doesn’t even acknowledge the possibility of her being _scared_ ; if he sees even the slightest hint of fear in her, that’s it, they’re done for the day—or even for good. Doesn’t matter what she wants, doesn’t matter what he agreed to, doesn’t matter if he _promised_.)

(Which he didn’t.)

“No,” she says through gritted teeth. “Because ladies don’t do such things in public.”

“This was your idea,” he reminds her, and she huffs and says, “I _know_ it was my idea! But I want to learn how to kiss _properly_ , and if you won’t take this _seriously_ , then—”

He’s up in a flash. “I’m taking this plenty seriously—” A lie if he’s ever told one; he’s _can’t_ take this seriously, or else he’ll be left in pieces when it’s over. “—and if that isn’t good enough for you, then find someone else to help you!”

He expects her to glare at him, or sneer, or even stomp away before he can. Instead she laughs. Not a demure little giggle, but a full-bodied _laugh_ , her head thrown back and her shoulders shaking.

“How is it,” she gasps out after a minute, “that no matter how much we grow...” She gulps in a few lungfuls of air, tries to steady herself. “...we always end up like this? We always end up here.”

He stares at her, baffled, until he figures out what she’s trying to say. And suddenly he’s fifteen again, storming off with the words, _“Soo-Won would never—”_ ringing in his ears.

“Oh,” he says, softer than he means to. His lips curve into a reluctant grin. “I’m in the mood for peaches, in case you’re short on ideas for bribes.”

“Sit down,” she says, and when he does, she puts her hands on his shoulders. “I still don’t think ladies kiss like this.”

He can feel her warmth through his clothes, wishes she would move her hands a little higher, wishes he could feel the pulse in her wrist at the place where his neck meets his shoulder.

“In my experience, ladies aren’t supposed to _kiss_ ,” he says, eyes on her mouth. “They’re just supposed to _be_ kissed. But that hardly seems fun, and you’re a woman before you’re a princess, aren’t you? You’re a flesh and blood human before you’re whatever people want you to be.”

She parts her lips, gives a soft, “Oh,” and something in his chest tightens. He wonders if she can _feel_ his longing, as if it were a real, tangible thing hanging in the air between them. It wouldn’t surprise him if she could.

And maybe she does, because her hands twitch at his shoulders and her eyes drop to his lips and his own eyes flutter shut as she leans in—

Nothing happens. His eyes snap open and she’s drawing back, obviously embarrassed, and that’s fine. She needs a little more time, that’s okay. He can wait as long as she needs, as long as she wants.

“What... What exactly _is_ your experience?” she asks, and that’s _not_ fine, because even with his head all muddled from her touch and what almost just happened, it’s easy enough to work out what she means this time.

“Are you _really_ asking me this now?”

“Yes, I’m _really_ asking you this now,” she says, and she sounds like she’s one retort away from sticking her tongue out at him.

She could be doing other things with her tongue, damn it, and that’s—that’s the kind of thought that would sure as hell not be allowed if he _was_ an impenetrable, unfeeling pillar of restraint and fortitude.

_Get a hold of yourself, damn you._

“I’ve kissed a few women,” he says. Three, to be precise. Four if you count the traveler he made out with at a festival once, but he doesn’t; they were both drunk at the time and he barely remembers it. “I don’t exactly have the time to go romancing every pretty face I come across.”

“You have free time, you just spend most of it napping,” she says, which is a fair point, but he can hardly say that it’s more a question of _who_ , not _when_. He can hardly say that he’s met more than his fair share of lovely and engaging women, women with breathtaking minds and bodies and hearts, but none of them will ever be her.

“Whatever. You asked, I answered, now tell me why you wanted to know.”

“I just...” She licks her lips, presumably to moisten them. (They were looking a little dry. Just something he happened to notice.) “I wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know what you’re doing,” he says, and before she can do more than bristle at what she automatically takes as an insult, he continues, “I mean, why do you _really_ want to do this? Soo-Won _knows_ you can’t kiss any more than you can cook or clean. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know how to kiss, either.”

He almost tells her that Soo-Won has never told him otherwise, that Soo-Won has never talked about kissing anyone in his life, but stops himself. Soo-Won is his friend, too. He loves them both, if in drastically different ways. That’s what makes it all so hard and yet so easy.

“ _Because_ ,” she says, which is just _so_ informative. Luckily, she decides to keep talking. “It’s like you said, we’ll have people cooking for us and all that other stuff, but the kissing part... It’ll just be me and him, and he deserves the best. I don’t want him to have to settle for me.”

“ _Settle_ for you?” he repeats, unable to believe what he’s hearing.

Settle for _Yona_?

Princess Yona, handed everything she ever wanted on a silver platter, floating through life on a carefree breeze, a constant stream of praise and adoration following in her wake—

His childhood friend Yona, as capable of kindness and selflessness as she is of harsh words and selfish ignorance, so wilful he often thinks he’d have an easier time getting a mountain to budge—

Yona, the girl who’s always stood prouder than the most ancient tree, the woman who’s been slowly but surely opening her eyes to the world around her, the one who’s never done anything she deems important halfway—

Settle for _that_ Yona?

“Kiss me,” he says, and what he really means is, _Anyone who would dare to think they’re_ settling _for you can throw themselves into a steaming pile of horse shit where they belong._

And then she really does kiss him, and horse shit is the furthest thing from his mind.

It’s just a timid brush of her lips against his, her hands squeezing his shoulders too tight, the scent of her suddenly overwhelming. Clean, floral, nicer then when Soo-Won was visiting for her birthday and she tried so hard to impress him.

It makes his head spin. All of it.

Unthinking, he presses back, so that’s it less a mere touch and more like a kiss. Her mouth opens with a stunned intake of breath, and it’s a miracle he still has the presence of mind to refrain from taking advantage of it, to keep himself from taking this too far, too fast.

She pulls away and he’s startled to find that he’s much closer to her, that he set a hand on her knee without even noticing.

Her hands slip from his shoulders, down his arms, before she draws them back towards her. She tucks wild crimson strands behind her ear, cheeks redder than he’s ever seen them, her teeth pulling her bottom lip into her mouth.

It almost seems like an absentminded motion. She’s absentmindedly trying to kill him.

His hand is still on her knee. He withdraws it but she stops him, catches his hand in hers. Releases her lip and clears her throat before she says, “You’re the teacher, aren’t you? You should take the lead. Just for now.”

“What—” His question dies in his throat as she tugs his hand up to the place where her neck meets her shoulder, to the place where he so badly wanted her to touch him earlier.

 _Definitely_ trying to kill him.

He wonders if she can feel his pulse racing against her skin. He wonders what it would be like to replace his hand with his mouth.

“Kiss me,” she says, and heaven help him, he does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yona would love to say that a million different possibilities flutter through her mind, a million different ways to spend these unexpected hours free of obligation. In reality, her thoughts instantly turn to Hak, to whether or not he’s done training for the day, to how hard it will be to convince him to slip away with her.
> 
> Not very, it turns out. A single look from across the training yard is all it takes before he’s bidding farewell to his fellow guards and following after her, letting her lead them to their small corner of—she’s not sure exactly what, but it’s _something_.
> 
> _It's ours._

Yona chews her food slowly, absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting from the here and now to the strangeness that has been the past two weeks of her life.

They don’t meet _every_ day, of course—they don’t have time, what with Hak guarding her and training daily and fulfilling his duties as a general, and with her pouring over ledgers and attending meetings and listening to the concerns of her people—but they do see each other almost that often, and every time she looks at him, her lips tingle and her heart leaps into her throat.

A downright annoying development, and what’s worse is the one day they _didn’t_ see each other because he had the day off, she’d been bored and restless and...

_And nothing. Certainly not disappointed. Certainly not wistful._

When she asked him to teach her, she had no idea their lessons would be so _distracting_ , so disruptive to her daily routine.

How is she supposed to pay attention to tax records when she’s remembering the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, when she’s remembering the stunned noise he made in the back of his throat the first time she purposely opened her mouth under his?

How is she supposed to keep up with the discussion between her father and his advisers when she’s remembering his hands cradling her face, slipping through her hair, sliding down her back and settling at her waist to tug her closer?

How is she supposed to come up with solutions to disputes over land and livestock— _“_ _A_ _nd sometimes_ women _, as if there’s nothing wrong with lumping us in with literal property!”_ she ranted to Hak once as they sat together on their boulder, and they didn’t kiss at all that day, but he listened intently to her every word and she left his company feeling like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders—when she’s remembering his eyes on her, _always_ on her, intense, almost _hungry_?

Heaven help her, he’s turned her into some sort of, of, of—of kissing-obsessed _deviant_.

Heaven help her, she has no one to blame but herself, and worse, she’s not even sure she minds.

“Yona? Yona!”

Startled, Yona jerks her head up and finds her father staring at her in obvious concern.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t mean to... Did you need something?”

He frowns at her. “I asked if you were done eating.”

“Oh.” Yona looks down at her empty plate. _I finished it all. When did that happen?_ “Yes, I’m full. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Min-Soo takes her plate away, smiles when she thanks him. Her father doesn’t smile. He still looks concerned.

“Yona, dear, won’t you tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“What? Yes, I have. Nothing’s wrong,” she says, which is true. Nothing’s _wrong_. Strange isn’t wrong.

“But you’ve seemed distracted,” he persists. “Is it too much at once, the responsibility you’ve taken on these past few months? Maybe you should stick to observing council meetings and leave the petitioners to me—”

She’s on her feet in a second. “No, Father, it’s not that. I can handle it. I _want_ to handle it. I want to hear our people’s voices, I want to help them.”

At last, he smiles. “I know you do. You’re growing into a fine young woman.”

She ducks her head, overwhelmed by the tenderness she can see in the upward curve of his mouth, by the way his eyes glisten as he looks at her, by the pride she can hear in his voice.

“You’re growing so fast,” he says, and she lifts her head and reaches for his hand, picking up on the sudden melancholy that’s settled over him. “Soon you’ll be a wife, a queen, a mother...”

“You’re being silly, Father,” she says, squeezing his hand tightly in hers and then lets go. “I’ve told you, Soo-Won and I have agreed not to marry until I turn eighteen. Even if you changed your mind and gave us your blessing this minute, it would be at least a year before we even _spoke_ of wedding preparations.”

A brief pause. She needs it to gather her courage, to settle her nerves. “You _haven’t_ changed your mind, by any chance, have you?”

“No, Yona, I have not,” he says, a hint of steel creeping into his voice, the one that only ever appears when this subject comes up.

She lets out the breath she’s been holding, feels her muscles relax, feels a knot come undone deep down in the pit of her stomach. It must be true what they say, about what love does to you, because this sensation is barely even recognizable as the disappointment she knows she must be feeling.

“It’s a matter of time,” she says cheerfully, brushing aside both her father’s response and her body’s odd reaction.

“If you say you can handle the responsibility, I trust you,” her father says, letting it go, though they both know one of them will have to give in eventually. “But why don’t you take the afternoon off? You’ve been working so hard, you’ve more than earned it.”

Yona would love to say that a million different possibilities flutter through her mind, a million different ways to spend these unexpected hours free of obligation. In reality, her thoughts instantly turn to Hak, to whether or not he’s done training for the day, to how hard it will be to convince him to slip away with her.

Not very, it turns out. A single look from across the training yard is all it takes before he’s bidding farewell to his fellow guards and following after her, letting her lead them to their small corner of—she’s not sure exactly what, but it’s _something_.

_It’s ours._

“What’s in the basket?” he asks, watching as she sets it down on the boulder beside him.

She smiles, reaches inside for the blanket she packed, spreads it out onto the grass. “Lunch. You were just about to eat, weren’t you?”

He hesitates. “When you say _lunch_ —”

“From the kitchens, Hak, I didn’t make it,” she says, rolling her eyes. She nudges the basket towards him. “Just for that, you can set everything up yourself.”

“Oh, come on, Princess...”

They bicker playfully until he starts eating, at which point Yona stretches out on the blanket and watches the clouds, Hak’s obnoxiously loud but oddly endearing chewing noises the only sound she hears at first. Until she closes her eyes and _listens_ , to the grass rustling in the breeze, to the birds chirping at each other, singing their little hearts out.

She doesn’t notice when the chewing stops, doesn’t notice Hak putting things back in the basket. When he touches her, though, she notices.

He brushes her bangs back, trails his fingertips along the shell of her ear, back up to her temple, into her hair. Hardly breathing, she waits as he lays down beside her, waits as his other hand comes up to tip her chin towards him. The press of his lips to hers is all it takes for her to roll onto her side, to melt into him, one hand tucked against her body and the other moving to clutch his arm.

His lips are a little sticky, and when he opens his mouth to her, she tastes a sweetness that makes her pull back and murmur, “You liked the peaches, I take it?”

“I did. But I like kissing you more.”

_He says it so easy._

She moves her hands to his chest and pushes until he’s lying on his back, props herself up on one elbow, hovering over him. This is one of the things she loves most about their kisses, about him: how he lets her take the lead, how he yields to her hands and her lips and her teeth as easy as breathing.

When she leans down to kiss him, she really does feel like she’s learning something, even though it’s nothing they haven’t done before. She feels like she’s learning everything. It’s like that every time they kiss, it’s always new and it always sends her heart tumbling into itself.

He’s the one to draw back this time, sliding his hands to her shoulders and pushing gently, and she nips at his bottom lip before she goes, just to feel his hands twitch like he’s dying to pull her back in.

“Something wrong?” she asks, smirking down at him, and he groans, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on her.

“There’s this princess...”

“Uh-huh.”

“...and sometimes...”

“Mmhmm.”

“...she’s a little...”

“A little?” she prompts, still smirking.

He opens his eyes. “A little too much.”

Damn him for being so honest, so straightforward. Damn him for his pretty blue eyes and his soft hair and how solid his chest feels under her palms, even through the fabric of his robe. Damn him for the way he makes her head turn the instant he walks into a room, for the way he makes her head spin just by standing too close.

Damn him for making her wonder; about him, about Soo-Won, about herself. About what she wants. About what _he_ wants, because all she really knows is that he likes kissing her, and he’d probably never stop if they didn’t both need air. If she wasn’t _a little_ _too much_.

“I have this bodyguard,” she says, “and sometimes, he’s a little too much, too.”

She says it in a low voice, like it’s a secret. Like it’s not written all over her face whenever she’s around him. But maybe it isn’t, after all, because he looks dumbfounded.

He loosens his grip on one of her shoulders, lifts his hand to touch her hair.

“Your hair looks like fire,” he tells her, hushed, and as she watches his calloused fingers run through shining red locks, she realizes there really _is_ something new about today.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed with the sun beating down on them, out of the castle’s shadow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How have you been, my friend?” Soo-Won asks with a wide smile, cheerful and fond as can be, and Hak feels like throwing himself into a steaming pile of horse shit.
> 
> “Good. Y’know. Busy.” _Busy kissing your future wife, mostly,_ he thinks, and though he’s dead-set on keeping it a secret, he wonders if he should cut out his tongue, just to be safe.
> 
> It would be a fitting punishment, given all the things he’s done with his tongue these past few weeks.

It’s too good to last. Hak knew that from the beginning, knew that when he agreed to teach her against his better judgment, against all reason.

But somehow, it doesn’t really sink in—until Soo-Won pays a visit to the castle.

The week before he arrives is tense, not just for the two of them, but for everyone. Everyone is rushing around to prepare, to make sure everything’s just right. Everyone knows the importance of this visit, knows the looks and expectations that have existed between Princess Yona and her cousin Soo-Won since the night of her sixteenth birthday.

Everyone remembers Lord Soo-Won drawing her in and pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth at the end of that visit, in front of nobles, guards, servants.

In front of the king.

And everyone remembers the way King Il went rigid, the angry flush that spread from his neck and the tips of his ears and met in the middle, until his entire face was burning. Everyone recognized the exchange for what it was—Soo-Won declaring that Princess Yona would be his, no matter the king’s wishes, his reservations.

(No one, Hak is sure, remembers the way _he_ went rigid, the way he watched in disbelief as his childhood friend used their cherished princess to challenge the king’s authority. No one remembers him sitting outside her chambers, guarding her no doubt blissful dreams, trying to rationalize Soo-Won’s behavior to himself.)

(It must have worked, because sometime in the last few months, he put his worries to rest and focused on trying to lock up his heartbreak in a tiny little box at the back of his mind and throw away the key.)

So the wait is tense. It’s busy. Just not so busy that Hak fails to notice that he and Yona haven’t met up since the impending visit was announced.

 _You_ knew _this was coming,_ he berates himself, rubbing at his chest, at the spot that aches whenever he thinks about this _thing_ between them being over. _It’s for the best. This is how it was always supposed to be._

It’s easy enough to get back in the habit of ignoring his pain and his longing, but as the days wear on, he becomes increasingly aware of another feeling: guilt.

This is hardly the first time he’s felt guilty about what they’re doing ( _what we_ were _doing,_ he corrects himself), but before it was always about taking advantage of both the king’s trust and Yona’s. Guilt for lying to them both—lying about what he does ( _did_ ) with the king’s daughter when no one’s around, and about why he went along with her terrible idea in the first place.

Now there’s a new face to his guilt. Now, finally, it’s hitting him that this a betrayal to his childhood friend, to his future king, to the bond the three of them share. No matter what he’s told himself, no matter how he tries to justify it, Soo-Won would not be okay with it if he knew.

The worst part is, Hak doesn’t for a second consider confessing his (their) sins. He doesn’t for a second consider ruining everything for himself, for Yona.

 _It’ll be our secret. It’ll be_ my _secret, once she forgets, lost in her new life with Soo-Won._

_It’ll be as if it never happened._

He repeats this like a mantra, over and over. As the maids gush about how beautiful Yona will look for her cousin’s arrival and how long they spent getting her ready, as his fellow guards wonder if this visit will end with a formal betrothal, as the gates open and Soo-Won enters...

Looks around, searches. For Yona, then for Hak, and finally, for King Il.

The reunion passes by in a blur, and before he knows it he’s alone with Soo-Won, Yona and King Il having walked off, whispering to each other in a way that makes it crystal clear they’re arguing.

“How have you been, my friend?” Soo-Won asks with a wide smile, cheerful and fond as can be, and Hak feels like throwing himself into a steaming pile of horse shit.

“Good. Y’know. Busy.” _Busy kissing your future wife, mostly,_ he thinks, and though he’s dead-set on keeping it a secret, he wonders if he should cut out his tongue, just to be safe.

It would be a fitting punishment, given all the things he’s done with his tongue these past few weeks.

“You’ve been exchanging letters with the king, right?” he asks, shoving those pesky, dizzying memories to the back of his mind. “D’you think he’s any closer to accepting a betrothal, or...?”

Soo-Won’s smile dims, and he sighs. “Not quite, hence the need for a visit. I can be much more... _persuasive_ in person. I hope to have him convinced by the end of the week so I can attend to other matters, but who knows. He’s being unnecessarily difficult—you’d think this was a matter of critical importance, rather than a matter of the heart.”

He talks of fighting for Yona like it’s a chore he’d rather not dirty his hands with, speaks as if marrying her is a mere stepping stone to him. He sounds like...

 _Like he feels he’s_ settling _for her._

“Enough talk of marriage,” he says lightly, not seeming to notice Hak’s thunderstruck expression. “Why don’t we visit the training yard, for old time’s sake? I guarantee I’ll hit a bulls-eye this time.”

Hak doesn’t answer. Unbidden, an image of Soo-Won tugging Yona into him flashes before his mind’s eye, of him kissing the corner of her mouth despite ( _because_ of) the crowd that had gathered to see him off.

No one has forgotten Soo-Won actions, but Hak has allowed time to chip away at the memory, to smooth over the rough edges until it looks polished, beyond reproach.

What a mistake that was.

“Sure,” he says, trying to summon an easygoing grin, but it’s hard when his acceptance of the invitation tastes like bile in his mouth. 

Eventually he escapes Soo-Won’s company, but he feels no better, knowing his friend is undoubtedly seeking out the princess or the king instead.

He thinks of the way Yona’s face used to light up whenever she was told a letter from her cousin had arrived for her, thinks of how her expression has clouded over whenever she receives one for almost half a year now, thinks of how _quiet_ she went a couple months ago when he asked about the newest letter’s contents. How she forced a smile and relayed Soo-Won’s warm greeting to him and nothing else.

 _What does he write to her about?_ Hak doubts she’d tell him the truth if he asked. _I should’ve been paying more attention. I shouldn’t have taken it for granted that they’re perfect for each other, that he’ll make her happier than anyone else ever could._

Days pass, and Hak broods, frets over what he should do. Whether there’s anything he _can_ do.

Until one evening, after standing guard over the royal family’s incredibly tense, awkward dinner, he’s accosted while innocently strolling through the halls, regretting every decision he’s ever made.

It takes a second to recognize the hand that’s latched onto his wrist, the clean, floral scent in the air, the sweet torture of a lithe, feminine body pressed against him. To tamp down on his instincts and relax his grip on his weapon, because the last thing he wants is to hurt her.

It takes another to question if this is even real. It must be a dream. Princess Yona would never attack him and pin him to a wall in a deserted corridor. She would certainly never snatch his weapon from him and carefully toss it aside, and then reach up to cup his face in her hands and pull him down for a kiss.

It takes one more to decide he doesn’t care. Dream, reality, delusion—he’s not squandering this golden opportunity. He grabs onto her, yanks her as close as he can get her, kisses her like he’ll never have the chance again because he _won’t_.

They’ve shared sweet kisses with her sitting in his lap in the shade, lazy kisses while lying on a blanket together in the sun, but never anything like this. Never heated kisses within the walls of the castle where anyone could walk by at any moment, and damn him if the very thought doesn’t _thrill_ him to his core, if it doesn’t saw at his self-control and drive him to be just the slightest bit _rough_ with her. 

Damn her, too, because she doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Because she gives as good as she gets.

She bites back when he nips at her lips, smiles when he spins them around so she’s the one pinned to the wall, wraps her legs around him when he lifts her up. _Laughs_ when he tells her that if she keeps kissing him like this, he won’t be able to stop. Gasps when his lips trail down her throat, spears a hand through his hair and yanks him back up, crashes her mouth into his and swallows down his surprised groan...

Lost in her, he takes it too far. His fingers brushes against her breast and she lets out a shaky breath, moans when he runs his thumb over her nipple through the fabric of her dress.

Then she stiffens. Breaks their kiss.

He doesn’t notice. Not until her hands fall to his shoulders and she pushes, hard. He obeys automatically, setting her down and backing up to give her space, but it still takes a few moments for the fog around his brain to dissipate.

When it does he’s left to stare at her, both of them panting for breath, and he doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks just as flushed and disheveled and _destroyed_ as she does.

She gathers her skirts in trembling fists and scurries away without a word, and he doesn’t even think about trying to stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that scene at the end is all I meant by 'mild sexual content.' There's nothing else. I'm just _really_ cautious.
> 
> Also, in case anyone is wondering about Soo-Won's characterization... The way I see it, in this AU marrying Yona is not only his ticket to ruling Kouka, it’s also his revenge against Il. (Plus, needing Il’s permission to marry Yona and become king is a bitter pill to swallow.) He’s been plotting this marriage just as long as he was plotting the murder in canon, and while at first he genuinely intended to be a good husband to Yona, over time he lost the ability to separate how he feels about her from how he feels about her father. He’s grown to see her as a pawn instead of his childhood friend and future wife.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But you’re growing,” her father says, snapping her out of her disheartening thoughts, and she looks up to see a telltale shine in his eyes. “You’re learning. More and more you demand to do things for yourself, to take care of yourself, to take care of your kingdom and your people. And if you’ll pardon my language—you’re damn good at it.”
> 
> “Father—” She laughs, presses her hands to her mouth, tries to hold back tears.
> 
> With a solemnity she rarely sees in him, he declares, “Yona, I want you to meet with the council tomorrow morning. If you can convince us to order your cousin to return the ledgers to the archives, if you can win back your seat at the table, if you can assert that is _your_ place to lend an ear and a helping hand to your people—then I will allow you to marry him.”

With every day that’s passed since her cousin’s arrival, Yona feels more and more like a stranger in her own home, her own life. Like she’s been cast out, and replaced.

Replaced by Soo-Won.

He took the ledgers from the archives and now looks them over in private with her father’s reluctant permission, he requested and was granted her seat at council meetings, and when she pulled him aside to question his solution to a dispute between two landowners, he gently but firmly suggested she take a break from listening to petitioners. When she firmly and not at all gently declined his suggestion, he told her that not only would he refuse to heed her advice, he’d also order the poorer landowner she was championing to pay twice the recompense than the richer one demanded.

Logically, she knew he wouldn’t really do it; there was no basis for such a decision, and besides, he wasn’t _heartless_. Yet he spoke as if he _was_ , as if he genuinely didn’t care one whit for the poor landowner’s plight, as if it was all a game to him.

She snapped, and as he had no doubt planned, one of her father’s advisers happened to arrive the moment she started yelling at him. After that display, he had little trouble convincing the man that she was too young for such responsibility, too _emotional_ , and she hasn’t been allowed in the same room as a petitioner since.

More than once, she thinks about voicing her discomfort with her cousin’s behavior, but who would she voice it _to_? Soo-Won himself would just pat her on the head and tell her she’s being silly, she’s imagining things; her father spends most of his free time holed up with Soo-Won behind closed doors, the two of them no doubt arguing in circles, getting nowhere; and Hak—

Well. She hasn’t seen much of Hak since...that one time, in the place, where they...did a _thing_. That she really shouldn’t dwell on.

_Why not?_ she asks herself sometimes. Why should she be loyal to a man who professed to love her as a woman, but still treats her like a child? Who responds to her painstakingly thought-out letters with dismissive words, because why take her attempts to discuss the future of the kingdom they intend to rule together seriously?

Then she remembers that there’s no _being loyal_. That ship has long since sailed, and she can’t even bring herself to regret it now that she’s finally accepted the truth. Now that she’s finally accepted that what she had with Hak was far more than a no strings attached learning experience.

Then she remembers Hak’s hands on her. It felt good, the way he touched her that day. It isn’t that she wanted to stop. Just that... that...

“Yona, dear, are you all right?”

Yona puts down her koto, glances around at her maids sheepishly. Her playing has greatly improved over the past few months, but her most recent performance was worse than when she was still a beginner.

“Yes, Father,” she says.

He gestures at her balcony, so she follows him out, closing the doors behind her so none of the maids changing her bedding will overhear. Maybe it’s just the memory of standing out here with Hak what feels like forever ago, but she senses this conversation is going to somehow change the course of her life going forward.

She’s right.

“You once told me it was only a matter of time before I relented and allowed you to marry Soo-Won,” he begins, and she goes rigid.

“Yes,” she says, trying to relax. “I did.”

“Soo-Won has changed, over the years,” he says slowly. “As have you. For a long time, I wasn’t sure if it was safe to leave you in his care.”

Once, she would’ve bristled at the insinuation that she could ever possibly need to be protected from _Soo-Won_ , of all people. Now, she bristles at the insinuation that she couldn’t take care of herself. His tone is apologetic, though, and deep down she knows he’s right.

The girl she used to be would’ve accepted Soo-Won cutting her out of her own life to carve a place for himself, would’ve told herself he was only doing what was best for her. She wouldn’t have seen anything odd about the way he so clearly _thrives_ on making her face flush with shame, making her shrink in on herself and question the validity of her every thought, only to then insist that she’s imagining things because after all, hasn’t he proven that he loves her more than words can say? Is he not kind enough, charming enough, for her tastes? Can she truly be in love with him if she’s willing to doubt him so? If she’s unwilling to accept him as he is, the way he accepts her?

It all would’ve been perfectly justifiable in her eyes, perfectly sincere. It all would’ve been nothing less than she deserved, because he was Soo-Won and Soo-Won was always right.

“But you’re growing,” her father says, snapping her out of her disheartening thoughts, and she looks up to see a telltale shine in his eyes. “You’re learning. More and more you demand to do things for yourself, to take care of yourself, to take care of your kingdom and your people. And if you’ll pardon my language—you’re damn good at it.”

“Father—” She laughs, presses her hands to her mouth, tries to hold back tears.

With a solemnity she rarely sees in him, he declares, “Yona, I want you to meet with the council tomorrow morning. If you can convince us to order your cousin to return the ledgers to the archives, if you can win back your seat at the table, if you can assert that is _your_ place to lend an ear and a helping hand to your people—then I will allow you to marry him.”

Despite her best efforts, tears spill down her cheeks, catching on her hands until she removes them from her mouth and wipes at her eyes.

“We will not make this easy for you,” he warns her. “I will not grant you this chance again.”

A real challenge, a real risk, and the reward... The reward is more precious than words can say.

She repeats this to herself over and over, like a mantra. _Challenge, risk, reward._ As she practices her arguments and counterarguments in front of the mirror, in front of Min-Soo, in front of Hak, even. _Challenge, risk, reward._ As she enters the council chambers and finds Soo-Won already there with the others, sitting in _her_ chair, expression wiped blank of any and all emotion. _Challenge, risk, reward._ As she delivers her arguments and counterarguments for real, as her words are picked apart, as she’s questioned in ways she failed to anticipate and forced to come up with a solid response on the spot. _Challenge, risk, reward._

When it’s over, when it’s all said and done, her mind is empty of all thought and her feet instinctively carry her to favorite hiding place. She finds Hak waiting for her there; she knew he would be, though it’s not something they discussed beforehand.

“Well?” he demands, jumping to his feet as she approaches. “Did you win them over?”

Thought comes rushing back, as if the sound of his voice or even just the sight of him has opened a door in her mind.

She thinks back to the night Soo-Won confessed to seeing her as a woman, how she confessed in turn that she was desperately worried for his safety, that her father had spoken of insurgents and she was terrified of losing him the way she’d lost her mother. How he patted her on the head and told her not to worry, he could take care of himself. How she decided then and there that, while someone as wise and brave and kind as Soo-Won no doubt _could_ take care of himself, she wanted to take care of him, too. She would be his wife someday, after all.

She thinks of how she poured over books day and night, asked questions of anyone and everyone, strove to learn about the world around her. How the more she learned, the more she thirsted for knowledge, and the more she sought it out for its own sake, for _her_ own sake. How she started to take on more and more responsibility, and with every step found herself greedier and greedier for the _rush_ she got when she did something on her own, for the delight that coursed through her when she helped someone who had no one else to turn to.

She thinks of how Soo-Won took little note of her eagerly shared accomplishments; how every reply he sent her consisted of a paragraph reminiscing over the past and asking her to pass along his warmest greetings to Hak, another hinting that if she truly loved him she’d be trying harder to get her father’s permission for them to marry, and a single, measly line cautioning her to be careful about wading into matters of state. He gave a different reason every letter, but it always boiled down to, _Leave it to the adults, to the men._ _You’re not capable._

And she thinks of how, despite the awkwardness between them, Hak came to her when he heard of the king’s ultimatum, his test. How he sat up with her well into the night and listened and gave advice, and when the morning light finally peeked in through the curtains, he shook her awake and told her she was ready. How her first instinct when she left the council chambers was to find him, and how he was waiting for her.

How he’s here now, with her, where he’s always been.

She smiles. It starts slow, soft, until she’s grinning from ear to ear, and he grins back.

“I did it,” she tells him, latching onto him to keep herself upright, to stay afloat as dizzying waves of triumph crash over her. “I really did it! I earned my seat back, the tax records are being returned to the archives, they chose _me_ to meet with petitioners—”

He sweeps her up in a hug and lifts her clear off the ground, and she laughs in his ear, and cries, and laughs some more when he teases her about rain falling on his face.

When he sets her down, just before he lets go, he whispers, “I knew you could do it.”

“I did, too,” she says, a little amazed, a little disbelieving. “When did that happen?”

“I hate to tell you this, Princess, but you’re the proudest, most self-assured person I know. You always have been,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he hates it. He sounds like he might just love it more than he loves an afternoon nap in the sun. “The most bullheaded, too.”

“Don’t say too many nice things, now,” she teases. “Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Haha.” Without warning, he shrugs off the elated, playful air that’s settled over them and frowns. He doesn’t look sad, only serious, so Yona doesn’t feel the slightest bit of trepidation as she waits for him to put his thoughts into words.

“Listen, I...” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for what I said when... for what I said last time. About how if you kiss me like that, I won’t be able to stop. That’s not true and I never should’ve said it. If I go too far, if it's too much, you can always tell me. I _can_ control myself. I _will_ stop when you tell me to. No matter what."

She feels like she should tell him,  _I already knew that,_ but there’s a knot of tension uncoiling somewhere deep inside her belly and she knows she didn’t. Not for sure. Not beyond a doubt.

(This is what she wanted, that day. Not to stop, but to know he _would_ stop if she asked him to.)

She feels like she should tell him, _I’m sorry,_ _I should’ve known that already,_ _you’ve_ _earned_ _that_ _by now_ _,_ but there’s a voice in the back of her mind and it’s telling her no, no, she doesn’t owe him that. She never did.

Why should she have known, for sure, beyond a doubt? Actions speak louder than words, but words still matter. If a simple reassurance can make her feel this way, so at ease, so comfortable in her own skin and the thought of being with him, then why should she settle for anything less?

But there are other things she _knows_ she should tell him—things she _wants_ to tell him. Reassurances of her own she wants to offer up, because why should he settle for anything less?

Before she can say anything, he hurries to add, “I just wanted to say it. I know you’re getting married, so it doesn’t matter anymo—”

“I’m not getting married,” she interrupts him, and he blinks.

“Not right _now_ , obviously, but when you turn eighteen—”

“No,” she says. “I’m not marrying Soo-Won. Ever.”

Hak doesn’t seem to know what to do with those words, spoken in that specific order. He says, “Sorry, what?” as if there’s no doubt in his mind he’s misheard her.

“I’m not marrying him. King Il offered to bless a formal betrothal between us, and I turned him down.”

Truthfully, her mind was made up the instant her father first issued his challenge. Faced with the possibility of the one obstacle to her prospective marriage vanishing, it became blindingly clear what she really wanted.

Or rather, what she really _didn’t_ want.

“After going to all that trouble to win back my rights as princess of this kingdom...” She lifts her chin defiantly, the way she did when Soo-Won coldly asked her if she really knew what she was doing, if she really wanted to deprive the kingdom of a competent ruler. “Why would I then marry the man who took it away in the first place?”

Deprive the kingdom of a competent ruler, he dared to accuse her.

As if _she_ would dare to sit the throne as anything less than that.

“So, I’m sorry, I don’t understand—” Hak says, holding up his hands as if to halt whatever internal crisis he seems to be having. “You’ve wanted to marry Soo-Won for _years_ , since we were _children_ , and now you’ve just...changed your mind, just like that? Told him _no_?”

She leans in close and whispers, “You should have _seen_ his face,” with only the slightest speck of regret to taint her utter glee.

“I need to sit down,” he says in a faint voice, and sinks heavily onto their boulder. Incredulous, he stares up at her. “You know he won’t—”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he might—”

“Mmhmm.”

“And the king...?”

“I’ve never seen him laugh so hard.”

He scrapes a hand over his face, shakes his head slowly.

“What am I going to do with you?” he wonders, more to himself than to her, it seems. “The most bullheaded, ridiculous, _incredible_ woman in all the world...”

Heart in her throat, a warmth spreading through her limbs that she could no sooner hold back than she could a forest fire, she opens her mouth, ready to give him some suggestions.

Then she pauses. Draws in a breath. Changes her mind, because there’s something she needs to do first—a few things she needs to do, really. Things she’s been thinking of doing for longer than she cares to admit.

“Hak,” she says, and she can see from the way his shoulders stiffen that he hears the finality in her voice. “I don’t need any more kissing lessons.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, don’t worry about that!” she says brightly. “I’ll get a new guard!”
> 
> She’ll get a new guard.
> 
> She’ll get _a_ _new guard_.
> 
> Princess Yona will just pop into the bodyguard store and purchase a newer, weaker, less attractive model. Hak will bark orders and answer to a fancy new title and try not to murder anyone, and someone else will follow the princess around and tease her and listen to her shrill voice whining in his ear every hour of the day.
> 
>  _Ah,_ he thinks, turning his rather vivid mental picture over in his mind. _So_ this _is what hell looks like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, so I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who commented, left kudos, bookmarked, or subscribed!! :D
> 
> And thanks to all of you for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

Hak didn’t think his life could get any stranger than it did after that day on Princess Yona’s balcony, but somehow it has.

Yona decided not to marry Soo-Won. Yona put an end to their secret lessons. Yona is suddenly travelling to Fuuga on mysterious official kingdom business, and he is being dragged along with her.

It could be worse, he supposes. At least he’ll get the chance to see Mundok and Tae-Yeon and the others. At least Princess Yona has been there before—a few months ago, she insisted on finally getting a glimpse of the world outside of Hiryuu castle, and Fuuga was the only place Il would allow her to go—so he won’t have to introduce her to everyone.

No, he won’t have to introduce her. He’ll just have to listen to his friends taunt him about the way he looks at her, how does he feel about her, does he want to _kiss_ her?

 _I_ have _kissed her,_ he wants to tell them, just to see the looks on their faces. But that would be stupid. It’s a secret, and just because she’s not marrying Soo-Won, after all, doesn’t mean it’s okay if he tells anyone.

 _"_ _I’m not ordering you as_ _the princess,_ _I’m asking you as Yona, your childhood friend_ _,"_ he remembers her saying, and it was so painfully clear that she had no idea what she was really asking. It was so painfully clear that he needed to tell her no.

 _"Guess I might as well do S_ _oo_ _-Won a favor,"_ he remembers telling her instead, nonchalant. _"Wouldn't want him to end up married to someone who kisses like a fish."_

As if he hadn't burned to ashes the instant her lips formed the words, “ _Show me how_ _to kiss.”_

As if he hadn't scattered to the winds the moment she leaned in close to whisper, “ _Please, Hak?”_

As if he ever stood a chance.

And now it’s as if it never happened. He’s her bodyguard, her childhood friend, and that’s all. She’ll marry some prince or nobleman, become queen eventually, and he’ll guard her—them—for all his days. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, even if Soo-Won won’t be in the role they always thought he would.

He’s not sure how he feels about that last part, how he’s supposed to feel; all he has is a quiet ache in his chest and a fierce conviction that Yona did what was best for her, that Soo-Won drove her to it. The more he thinks on it, the more convinced he is that Soo-Won has been drifting away from them for much longer than the months since Princess Yona’s sixteenth birthday.

_He made his choice, and Yona made hers. And I... I made mine, too._

Just not the one Soo-Won apparently thought he had. The morning they left for Fuuga, Soo-Won took his leave as well, headed for Saika, though he refused to give a reason.

“ _So you won her over, in the end,”_ Soo-Won said, mouth twisted into a mockery of his real smile. _“Congratulations.”_

Hak remembers how perturbed he was by that, by the way Soo-Won spoke like they’d competed against each other in a card game, gambling for the princess instead of coin. How he firmly denied Soo-Won’s words, only to be laughed at and called a liar.

“ _I asked her if she was really sure she wanted to settle for_ you _, of all people. An orphan boy playing at general, rather than someone of royal blood. If you’d been their to witness her reaction, you wouldn’t bother trying to lie to me,”_ Soo-Won said.

He was still smiling as he repeated, _“Congratulations. Enjoy her while you can.”_

Now, as the memory plays in his mind, Hak is unsurprised to find himself angrier on Yona’s behalf than his own. (He’ll never admit it, but deep down, what Soo-Won said about him doesn’t make him angry; it just  _hurts_.)

Watching Soo-Won ride off without so much as a backwards glance felt like watching the end of a chapter in his life— _their_ lives, his and Yona’s. It felt like the end of an era, and the here and now is no more or less than the fragile in-between before a new one begins.

Will he recognize the moment it does? Or will he wake up one day and realize, _Oh, this is how life will be from now on_ , and carry on without another thought because he’s already gotten used to it?

(When he looks back after returning to Hiryuu Castle, he will think to himself that he should’ve known the answer to that; as if a beginning with Yona could be any less vibrant than the first blush of dawn ushering in a new day.)

His restless uncertainty hangs over him like a cloud all the way to the gates of his city, but an enthusiastic greeting from Tae-Woo and Han-Dae dispels the feeling. They exchange sly grins when Hak helps the princess down from her horse, wiggling their eyebrows and chorusing, “ _Ohhhhhh_ ,” as if he’s doing something _outrageous_ , and then he’s too busy seething with annoyance to dwell on anything else.

“Why do you leave these idiots guarding the gates, old man?” he demands when he sees his grandfather approaching, and has to dodge Yona’s attempt to smack him on the arm.

“Be polite,” she hisses, grabbing hold of his ear and tugging him down to her level. “Just because they call you a beast doesn’t mean you can act like one! You’re here as my bodyguard, remember?”

He pries her fingers off him and winces theatrically, rubbing at his barely stinging earlobe. “Oh, how could I ever forget, Princess Yona, with your shrill voice whining in my ear every hour of the day?”

“Hak!” Mundok roars, stepping forward and pulling him into a headlock. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Grandpa? How many _times_ do I have to tell you not to be rude to the Princess? You snot-nosed _brat_ —”

“Elder Mundok, it’s so good to see you!” Yona interrupts cheerfully, and Mundok lets go and shoves him out of the way so he can accept her hug.

“Never get any respect around here,” Hak grumbles to himself, which is good because no one else is paying attention to him, anyways.

The first day is spent celebrating their arrival, the second day Yona and Hak spend gathering information on the current state of the Wind Tribe and helping out wherever they’re needed, and the third... On the third day, Princess Yona holes herself up with his grandfather for a good hour, and when she finally leaves the room, she walks off to help sort out the latest haul from the merchants without a word to anyone.

Mundok appears in the doorway, takes one look at Hak, and howls with laughter for the next five minutes. When Hak attempts to pressure the truth out of him, he just laughs even harder.

“Y-You’ll... You’ll find out...” he splutters, slapping his knee, his other hand grasping at the door frame to keep himself upright. “You’ll f-find out—soon enough.”

“Two-faced bastard...” Hak mutters under his breath as he stalks away, and once again no one pays him any mind.

What the hell is going on? What is Princess Yona up to?

 _Knowing her, nothing good,_ he thinks to himself darkly, even as his heart gives a traitorous, affectionate lurch in his chest.

His heart ends up regretting that later,when she pulls him aside after dinner.

“Hak, I was wondering...” She trails off. Tries again. “You know how my father never really got a replacement for Joo-Doh after he was promoted, and he’s just been fulfilling his duties as a general _and_ a captain ever since?”

“Yes,” he says, and a shiver runs through him. _Where is this going?_

“Well, that’s a lot to expect of just one person, and it’s clearly taking a toll on him. It would be wise for us to procure ourselves a second captain of the Imperial Guard...”

“Oh.” His apprehension drains away. “Yeah, there are a few men I’d recommend. We can go over possible candidates with the king when we get back—”

“No,” she interrupts him. “I’m asking if _you_ would want to be captain.”

For several seconds, he just stares at her in utter bafflement. Then he points out, “But I can’t be captain. I’m your guard?” as if he’s not quite sure it’s true, as if he might’ve dreamed up the last three—almost four, now—years of his life.

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” she says brightly. “I’ll get a new guard!”

She’ll get a new guard.

She’ll get _a_ _new guard_.

Princess Yona will just pop into the bodyguard store and purchase a newer, weaker, less attractive model. Hak will bark orders and answer to a fancy new title and try not to murder anyone, and someone else will follow the princess around and tease her and listen to her shrill voice whining in his ear every hour of the day.

 _Ah,_ he thinks, turning his rather vivid mental picture over in his mind. _So_ this _is what hell looks like._

“Well?” she prompts him. “What do you think?”

Every fiber of his being is urging him to scream, “NO!” at the top of his lungs, and then climb to the highest point in Fuuga and shout it again and again, until Mundok drags him down and dunks his head in the river to shut him up.

Instead he asks, “Is that what you want, Princess Yona?”

“What I want,” she muses aloud to herself, and he doesn’t quite recognize the way she’s looking at him.

( _That’s because she’s looking at you and picturing her new guard standing in your place,_ his brain informs him. _Before she just looked at you like you were an irritating fly buzzing around her head, too quick for her to put to death._ )

(Truly, his brain deserves all the credit for earning this promotion Yona is offering him. Where would he be without its earnest encouragement and steadfast support?)

“What I want is— is—” She stops, seems to lose her nerve. “What I want is for you to consider my offer.”

“I will. If that’s all...”

He walks away, pretending not to hear when she calls his name.

Is this what Mundok meant when he said Hak would find out soon enough? Is this what he and the princess talked about behind closed doors? Would he really laugh, to hear that she intended to replace his grandson?

He tries to get a grip, to think it over rationally. She didn’t say he _had_ to take the new position. She didn’t say she wanted to get rid of him because of some mistake he made. She didn’t say anything about wanting to get rid of him at all.

 _But if she_ does _order me to take it... If she_ does _replace me... What if her new guard can’t protect her?_

These thoughts haunt him all throughout the night and well into the next morning, as they pack up their things and ready their horses and say their goodbyes.

Mundok claps him on the back, looks at the shadows under his grandson’s eyes with a knowing glint in his own, tells him to buck up, it will all work out just fine. Then he pulls the princess aside for a hug and one final talk, and as Hak studies his grandfather’s expression and the way Yona seems to nod at every other word, he’s reminded oddly of a commander giving a speech to his troops to inspire them on the eve of battle.

Seriously, what the _hell_ is going on? He thinks he might just find out soon, given the nervous looks Yona keeps sending him as they make their way through the mountains, headed back home.

Sure enough, as soon as their party decides to rest, she approaches him to ask if they can speak in private.

“Sure,” he says.

She leads him away from their camp, close enough that their companions can still see them, but too far for anyone to hear.

“So, what’s this about?” he asks her, and before she can answer, he adds, “Going to tell me why you’re suddenly offering to promote me?”

She cringes at the question and insists, “It’s not sudden! My father’s been considering it for nearly three months now, and he told me about it just before we left on this trip.”

So the _king_ is the one who wants him to—?

“But—there _is_ something else,” Yona interrupts his thoughts, wringing her hands out in front of her without seeming to notice. “Though I wanted to see whether or not you were interested in the offer before I said anything. I didn’t want to influence you either way, but Mundok said I should just say it and trust you to make the right choice for _you_ , so...”

 _I guess he really did give her some kind of motivational speech before we left._ He almost feels bad for calling the old man a two-faced bastard now. Almost.

“I came to Fuuga to get Mundok’s advice. About you. About... About _us_. And to ask him—” Her hands still, then curl into fists. She’s drawing in shallow breaths like she’s on the verge of panic, but she squares her shoulders and soldiers on anyways. “To ask for his permission to court you. If it turned out you would—be amenable. To such an arrangement. Between us. You and I, I mean. Not you and Mundok. Or Mundok and I. Obviously.”

Hak stares at her.

 _Court_ him?

“What does that have to do with me being a captain of the Imperial Guard?” he asks, because nothing else she’s said is making any sense to him. He couldn’t have heard her right; in her nervous state, she must’ve gotten some of the words scrambled. _Something_ must’ve gotten lost in translation _somewhere_.

She looks frustrated, but it doesn’t seem to be targeted at him. She’s frowning down at her clenched fists as if she’s the source of her own frustration.

“Well... I thought... I wasn’t sure it would be right, to court you when you’re directly under my authority.” Looking up at him again, those violet eyes earnest as he’s ever seen them, she says, “So I wanted to see what it was _you_ wanted most, if you wanted to stay on as my guard or go back to Fuuga or take up another position at the castle. Then my father suggested you work with Joo-Doh as a second captain, and I thought that way—only if it turned out you wanted the job—you could stay at the castle and I wouldn’t have as much power over you...

“I know I’m a princess and we can’t _really_ be on equal ground, not... not until we... not unless we were to...” Her voice fades into nothing by the end, but she takes a deep breath and gathers the courage to speak with renewed confidence. “But I want to get as close to you as I can. I want to be with you, if you want to be with me.”

At last, her words sinks in. The fact that she means _every one_ sinks in. There’s no mistake, nothing lost somewhere between her brain thinking up the words and her tongue voicing them, his ears picking them up and his brain deciphering them.

She wants to court him. She wants to be with him.

More than anything, it shocks him to hear her say these things to him here, of all places. Not in a shaded nook just outside the castle or a deserted corridor within the walls, but _here_ , out in the open air. Any one of their companions could’ve wandered a little too close, heard her declaration on the wind.

He thinks of the warm smile King Il gave him just before they set out on this trip, thinks of the hand the king laid on his shoulder; thinks of his last conversation with Soo-Won, bitter as his former friend was, stunned and angry and _sad_ as he himself was; thinks of Mundok’s uproarious laughter, the glint in his eyes, his serious expression as he spoke with Yona one final time.

They all know. She told them, or let them figure it out for themselves. She’s wearing her heart on her sleeve—her _feelings_ for him, because she has those, it turns out—for anyone to see.

Then he realizes he shouldn’t be surprised at all; Princess Yona has never done anything important to her halfway.

He crosses his arms. Just to make sure there’s no further misunderstandings between them...

“So, you’re saying you have feelings for me? That’s why you ambushed me and _pinned me to a wall_ the other day?”

She flushes the most delightful shade of red, like the blush of dawn, and any regret he felt for teasing her vanishes.

“Dinner that night was very awkward and stressful!”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t change expression. Not even to leer at her, because does she realize she’s saying she made out with him to _relieve her stress_? Does she _realize_ how easy it would be for him to turn that into an innuendo?

He doesn’t, though. Just stands there with his arms still crossed, waiting.

“I— _Yes_ , I have feelings for you,” she says, glaring up at him. Then she abruptly lets her irritation go, and the flash of mischief in her eyes is the only warning he gets before she lifts her chin and bluntly tells him, “I love you.”

 _A_ _lways has to win, doesn’t she?_ He can feel blood rushing to his face, no doubt staining his cheeks a hue bright enough to rival hers, and her eyes spark with the same delight he felt upon seeing her blush.

“I ‘ambushed’ you and pinned you to a wall because I’d been wanting to for _days_ , and I just couldn’t take it anymore,” she says, and he could be irritated at how _smug_ she so clearly is if she would just stop being so damn _sincere_ at the same time.

“I did it because I missed you.”

He uncrosses his arms, lets them fall back to his sides. That’s it. That’s his limit; he can’t resist anymore, not when she’s dropped the attitude, not when she’s looking at him like she’s missing him right _now_. Like she’d give anything to be in his arms at this exact moment.

“I missed you, too—I love you, too,” he admits, hands itching to touch her, but that would hardly be appropriate with the rest of their party watching their every move. “You, and that bullheaded attitude of yours, and your shrill voice, and that thing you do with your teeth. Drives me crazy. All of it.”

She beams at him, so relaxed and happy that he can’t help but smile back.

“So, do I have your permission to court you?” she asks, so hopeful that his heart gives an affectionate, _helpless_ lurch in his chest that he knows it will never regret.

There’s a lot they need to work out. It would be foolish to assume Soo-Won ran off to Saika merely to lick his wounds and wallow in defeat; it’s far more likely he’s planning something, and they need to be ready for whatever it is.

On top of that, Yona is right that there’s an issue with Hak answering directly to her. Not just a personal problem between the two of them, either, but one that affects them publicly. She’s too kind to ever phrase it this way, but he can tell it’s on her mind: a princess can’t just court her lowly bodyguard, General of the Wind Tribe or no, and not expect any backlash from uppity nobles.

(Uppity nobles who are all undoubtedly convinced that _their_ son is entitled to sit the throne someday, or that they themselves deserve to be crowned the next king.)

People will whisper of favoritism, of scandal. Rumors will spread of a child growing inside her, of King Il’s failure to keep his daughter and his subject in check, of an impending marriage to save her from ruin and dishonor.

(People, simply put, are prone to being invasive, judgmental idiots. Especially rich, _noble_ people.)

He could move back to Fuuga and focus on leading the tribe, visit the castle once in a while, but he’d much rather stay where he is for the foreseeable future. As for accepting King Il’s promotion to captain, he’s not sure he wants to, but he’s also not sure he doesn’t. Maybe he can do a trial run and see how many recruits he’s murdered by the end of it. Maybe if he keeps it under, say, seven, he’ll take the job. If not, they’ll just have to think of something else; if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he won’t be able to let go of Yona now unless she asks him to.

(Luckily, it’s looking a _lot_ like she won’t be letting go of him anytime soon, either.)

Still, his smile gives way to a smirk, because that’s just who he is.

“It’ll cost you,” he says, and her eyes narrow to slits at his cocky tone. “The old man is never going to let me live this down, you going all the way to Fuuga to get his permission. So the least you can do is thoroughly, _properly_ court me. I expect you to bring me flowers—”

“Of course.”

“Write me poetry—”

“Naturally.”

“Switch chambers with me so I can walk out onto a balcony in the middle of the night and listen to you serenade me from below—”

She grabs onto his overcoat with both hands and yanks him down for a searing kiss, heedless to their companions whistling and jeering at them. Only when he’s dizzy with the feel of her, the taste of her,  _all_ of her—only then does she pull away and let him breathe.

Winding his arms around her, he buries his face in her hair and kisses the top of her head, feels her every exhale ghost across his neck.

“Is that _thorough_ enough for you, Son Hak?” she whispers, and it’s the silliest question he’s ever heard. Everything about her is more than enough for him. The real question is whether he’s more than enough her, too.

She draws back and stands on her tiptoes to press her lips to his forehead, and he thinks he just might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Yona courted the hell out of Hak for six months straight, at which point she asked him to marry her and he swooned. They invited Soo-Won to the wedding for the sake of appearances and he stayed for a week after to try and enact his Dastardly Plans, but all he really managed to do was repeatedly stumble upon the very happy and enthusiastic newlyweds in increasingly compromising positions. Which scarred him for life, but not as much it did to watch all his plans fail miserably while Queen Yona gracefully led her kingdom out of ruin and into an era of prosperity with her husband King Hak at her side. The end. (It’s a fitting punishment for this version of Soo-Won, I feel.)
> 
> (Maybe Hak would be Prince Consort instead, I haven’t decided, but in either case Queen Yona is universally acknowledged as the highest authority in the kingdom.)
> 
> (Also they have adorable babies together and they met Yoon and all the dragons while travelling throughout the kingdom to investigate and fix various problems, because I cannot bear to think of Shin-Ah trapped in that cave forever. Instead he gets to babysit a lot and go wherever he pleases.)


End file.
